


Little Rendezvous

by moony_julymoonlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Romance, Co-workers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Not Epilogue Compliant, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24429475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moony_julymoonlight/pseuds/moony_julymoonlight
Summary: Draco Malfoy is on a mission to prove that Hermione Granger is not as perfect as she seems. She may have bewitched everyone but it would not work on him.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 16
Kudos: 252





	Little Rendezvous

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything, credit where credit is due to Ms JK Rowling.
> 
> Hi everyone, this was such a cute fic, I smiled throughout as I wrote it. I was also slighty tipsy - so please excuse any glaring errors and typos. As always, would love to hear feedback and thoughts.

Draco was still ranting. “And today she shows up in the weekly meeting with pristine notes, meticulous work plans and perfectly notarised updates for her project. I mean who does that?” 

Theo kindly refrained from pointing out that Draco was currently scribbling his own version of them. However, Draco did not notice the pause as he scowled. Just one, Draco wanted to beg fate as he furiously made his own copious notes to rival hers, just one sign that Hermione Granger was not the perfect prim example she pretended to be. However, there was nothing as far as he could tell. 

“You would think she’s _perfect._ Wonderful Hermione Granger with her sheer brilliance, her challenging projects, her impeccable research.” 

Theo shared a knowing look with Blaise who was mouthing along with their friend as he resumed pacing, his notes finished. Pansy was lounging on an armchair, her head dangling over the edge while her feet were propped against the top. She was listlessly following Draco with her eyes as he paced, it was enough to make Theo feel nauseated. 

“And you know what’s the worst thing ever?” 

Theo, Blaise and Pansy all mouthed silently as Draco continued: “Nobody even dares question her! All her brilliance is taken completely for granted. My work is fact-checked _thrice_ but does anyone think to question or challenge her? Of course not!” Another mutter of “perfect Hermione Granger” reached their ears before he stilled, his head cocked to the side.

“Oh dear,” said Theo in a low voice. 

Blaise crossed his arms over his chest. “Merlin, please _no.”_

Pansy abruptly sat up straight, twisting around to look at Draco. “For fuck’s sake, not again.”

Draco did not appear to have heard them. “I will challenge her. I will question her. Does she think she’s perfect? She has got another thing coming at her!” With that, he strutted to his bedroom, his chin in the air as his eyes danced with glee. 

The three friends regarded each other in silence. “It may not be as bad-” Blaise began, falling silent when Pansy glared at him. 

“I cannot handle this,” she said, her hand perched over her forehead. “What if he repeats the same antics all over again?”

“What, you mean we’ll have to make _Granger Stinks_ badges this time around?” Theo was horrified, that particular ordeal was still a regular occurrence in his worst nightmares. And he’d lived through a war. 

“What if it’s a song?” Blaise groaned, his hands covering his face. The three friends were dragged into an unpleasant memory that haunted every member of Slytherin to this day: an all-nighter where Draco used his wand to act as a conductor while everyone reluctantly chorused the lyrics he’d penned and learned the tune he made. The three Slytherins shuddered and fell silent, cursing their oblivious and theatrical friend. 

“Anyone wants to wager on how long until he realises he has a crush on her?” Pansy examined her nails once before tucking her hair into place. 

“Not seven years, hopefully,” said Theo, messing up her hair with his hands. He ducked to avoid the wordless hex she threw his way. A glass vase shattered behind them and Pansy huffed. 

Blaise considered it for a moment. “A year.” 

“Well, friends. See you on the other side.” 

* * *

Life after the war came easily for Draco Malfoy. Giving up his fortune, his inheritance, most of his properties (they left him the Manor although the memories were enough to ensure he never set a foot in it again) and serving community service sentences had left him prepared for a lot of things. Unfortunately, they did not leave him prepared to work with a certain bushy-haired witch. 

They both worked together in the beast division of the department for the regulation and control of magical creatures. Hearing her footsteps, he stepped out of his office before he spotted her: hidden behind a stack of thick volumes, her unruly hair and stomping feet the only evidence that it was her approaching from the end of the hallway. 

“Granger, would you like to join me for lunch?” 

Wide brown eyes peeked at him from the top of the towering stack of books. “Malfoy,” she greeted, a hint of surprise in her voice. “Lunch with you?” 

“No, with the Minister.” 

Hermione shuffled her feet, her expression becoming pinched. “Oh, I see. You’re making fun of me.” 

“Of your astute observation skills,” he corrected her, unable to help the smirk that crept on his face when her eyes flashed. 

“I suppose I could join you,” she said, her tone stiff. With her wand, she shrunk her books until they were the size of a cube, tucking them into her pocket. With a hand on her elbow, Draco led her to the new cafe that had opened below the Atrium. She was quiet throughout and did not speak until they were seated, their plates of food in front of them. “So what brought this on?” 

She really was too smart for her own good, he thought. “Can’t I want to have lunch with an esteemed colleague?” 

Her eyebrows shot up. “You never have before.” 

“Using precedents to sabotage my attempt of turning a new leaf?” Draco clutched his chest. “Granger, you wound.” 

Her lips twitched once before she shook her head, gazing at him with all her moral righteousness and goodwill heart. “Why me?” 

“You’re the Brightest Witch of Her Age, war-heroine extraordinaire.” At that, her lips became so pursed, they nearly were invisible. “Besides, I need to tell you all the ways you are leading your research team to nothing but codswallop,” he added, pleased. 

She gaped at him. “Really?” 

“Your approach is faulty, your intentions are too honourable and you named the most incompetent person alive the lead.”

“Isn’t Theo your friend?’

“Doesn’t excuse his incompetence,” he said airily.

She was watching him closely now. “So you’re saying I am wrong?” 

Draco nodded. 

“Knowing that I am the Brightest Witch of Our Age and war-heroine extraordinaire?” 

He waved a hand. “Credentials don’t matter.”

Yes, he thought as he watched her frown at her plate. She would proceed to yell at him for thinking she is wrong, it would cause a scene and it would prove him _right._ “Alright, Malfoy. Consider me intrigued.”

“What?” This was not how it was supposed to go!

There was an undertone of a challenge in her voice: “Show me how I'm wrong.”

* * *

“Yes?” Hermione asked when Draco raised his hand. They were in the bi-monthly progress meeting and she had just finished presenting the work of her department with her bloody notes. 

“I fear you have missed out on a crucial element in your presentation, Granger,” Draco began, steepling his fingers together. Their other colleagues regarded them with a mixture of bemusement and wide-eyed looks. 

“Please continue, Malfoy,” squawked their department head. 

“You have missed out on the fact that the recent case with the illegal breeding of magical creatures came with the intention to create hybrids,” said Draco, his expression pleased as a shadow of perplexion came over Hermione. 

“That is something I have already covered as it came under my department’s legal jurisprudence,” she replied, slowly. “I understand-”

“How about you two solve this on your own? It seems more of a miscommunication than anything,” said another bored voice. Nods of assent followed after which the room cleared out. 

Draco groaned in frustration when he was left alone with her. “The intention to create hybrids is something not explicitly prohibited in the wizarding laws. However, this case referred to creating hybrids of dragons and hippogriffs which if you recall-”

“Section 158,” she was blinking rapidly, a dazed expression on her face. “You are right, this was the missing information I needed to apprehend the breeder. I must inform the DLME.” 

“Yes, you go ahead and do that,” he said dully. 

She paused at the doorway, looking over her amass of curls and tangles that she called hair. “Is something wrong?” 

Draco raised his chin. “Nothing.” 

Hermione tugged at one of her curls. “Since this is something you uncovered, maybe you can come with me to the DLME?” Noting his expression, she went on quickly. “Only because I think you should get credit. After all, it’s one thing I overlooked and you pointed out.” 

“I’m sure you would have managed to figure it out yourself.” He smirked at her. “Eventually.” 

Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “Well, I didn’t but you did so you’re coming with me.”

Draco followed her out of the conference room, his hands raised. “Alright, just stop with the hissy fit.” They were met by stares and not-so-pointed looks their way as they made their way towards the lifts. While everyone’s eyes slid over him automatically, they landed on Hermione fervently. Some beamed, some waved while some simply looked awe-struck when she politely smiled through. 

The same ordeal greeted them in the DLME department, Draco pointedly clearing his throat when his presence went ignored by the receptionist who absentmindedly started signing the petals of her plant instead of the stack of parchment in front of her. 

“Honestly,” he muttered into Hermione’s ear who slightly jumped. “You’d think that they are used to Potter’s presence enough to be able to let the novelty wear off a bit.” 

To his surprise, she agreed. “I know right,” she mumbled, beaming as she crossed the room. Finding the department head of DLME, she let him relay his finding. When he was finished, the wizard regarded Hermione. 

“Well, it’s no surprise that you’ve managed to figure this out. I’ll be sending my Aurors right now,” he said, smiling at the witch who suddenly looked angry. 

“I wouldn’t have been here - seriously, wouldn’t have even come here if it wasn’t for Malfoy,” she called, raising her voice as he rounded the corner. 

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, a hint of suspicion in his tone. She didn’t seem to want credit and wanted Malfoy’s role known completely which went against what he thought she’d do. What was she playing at?

Her shoulders slumped. “Nothing.” 

A sudden thought occurred to him. “You aren’t trying to turn me into one of your charity projects, are you? Making me look good in front of-” 

“Of course not, Malfoy. Why would I do that?” she snapped, her arms folded over her chest. 

“Because you’re a repugnant little shrew?” 

She suddenly barked with laughter, earning them even more looks. The action was not completely flattering but her eyes squinted close and her face suddenly appeared more relaxed...younger. Even an imperfect action led to her perfection, he thought, scowling. 

“Let’s have lunch,” she suggested, wiping a tear as she chortled once more. 

“As long as you promise to never make that sound again.” 

She did it again. 

* * *

A few nights later found Draco pacing. He’d asked Hermione to dine with him at one of the poshest and classiest places he could think of. Surely, with her disregard for traditional and conventional ideals, she would not have fit in and been annoyed at the stuffy rules and regulations (he certainly was). He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

“Unbelievable,” he raged to his friends. “She was unbelievable!” 

“Did she use the fork as a hairbrush?” inquired Theo, his eyebrows raised. 

Blaise nodded sympathetically. “Did she use the dessert utensils for the main course?” 

Pansy rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “I am getting second-hand embarrassment.” 

Theo flicked a strand of her hair. “On behalf of Granger?” 

“On behalf of all of you,” she retorted, pushing him away from her. 

“She was perfect!” thundered Draco, his hands gesticulating. “She did not fit in as I thought but she also kept explaining to me why certain rules of decorum of that place were classist and sexist when we were waiting for the table. She made sense _!_ I never want to eat there again.” He rounded on them. “She also nearly shamed the manager to tears when it was discovered he did not agree with the minimum wage.”

“So she ruined your night?” Theo sounded perplexed as he exchanged a look with the two others. 

“No, she made me learn things I was unaware of,” he scoffed. “I also had takeaway from a Muggle restaurant and it was delicious. _Perfect_ Hermione Granger.”

“How is that perfect?” demanded Blaise but Draco did not hear him, turning on his heel to resume pacing. 

“Your purpose of getting to know Granger and engaging her in all these ridiculous outings is to prove she is not perfect?” Pansy asked slowly, staring at her friend with a bewildered expression.

“Of course, Pansy,” he rolled his eyes as if she was incredibly simple. “What other purposes would there be?” 

“Someone please tell him,” said Blaise in a low tone. 

“I have to hear this at work too,” moaned Theo. 

Pansy had an unreadable expression on her face. “Patience, boys.”

* * *

Hermione’s voice came through the curtain. “Remind me why I’m helping you pick out dress robes again.” 

Draco fixed the collar, pulling aside the curtain to witness an uneasy Hermione on the settee, her legs bouncing. Catching sight of him, her eyes widened and a flush came over her face. 

“Pansy insists on throwing a ball party in a month and as her houseguest, I am to look presentable.” _And knowing you, I would look anything but_ , he thought wickedly. 

“Are you sure I’m the right person for this kind of consultation? Men’s robes are something completely alien to me,” she said, arching her left eyebrow. He fumed silently at that, he didn’t know how to do that. 

“Your tales of virginal happy times continue to delight me,” he drawled, noticing her glare. Straightening, a sudden gleam was visible in her expression. 

“What?” he asked, warily. He hurried to the mirror trying to ensure nothing inappropriate had fallen through an unfortunate rip. “OK, we will reserve that expression of yours for when there’s a _catastrophic_ wardrobe emergency.”

“Twirl for me.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco reentered the trial stall. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not your plaything.” When he emerged, he found Hermione looking thoughtfully at her wand. “I can’t believe we still haven’t found anything,” he said, sighing. “This was our-” 

“Fifth shop of the day and you must have tried out nearly fifty dress robes by now.” Still looking lost in thought, she absentmindedly tucked his day robe collar into place. “I have an interesting idea.” 

Alarm bells rang off in his head. “What is it?” 

“How would you feel about Muggle clothing?” Her expression was both apprehensive and expectant as if she already knew the answer but still felt it was her duty to ask. 

“I am listening,” he replied, shocking them both. Two hours later, Draco was staring at himself in a full-length mirror while Hermione regarded him patronisingly from the couch. 

“You love it,” she declared when Draco turned yet again to get a glimpse from a different angle. He was decked in a full outfit that Hermione had called a “tuxedo.” While he initially looked down his nose at the shop she had dragged them to, he was surprised when he tried on the suit and realised how good he looked. 

“Don’t pretend you’re not loving it either,” he replied, turning once so she received the full view. “You’ve finally got me in Muggle clothing, how long were you plotting it?” 

“As long as I’ve known you,” Hermione’s eyes ran over him in his slim-fit black attire. “You forgot the bow tie.” Picking up a fluffy black bow, she stood on her toes to reach around his neck. Draco still had to bend his knees a bit and she affixed it on him. There was a moment when their eyes met, her cheeks flushed pink and he had sudden difficulty in breathing. 

She stepped away quickly. Looking at his proper attire, Draco realised how much of an injustice the wizarding world was doing to itself by not wearing Muggle clothing. 

Hermione’s quiet voice interrupted his thoughts. “You look dapper.”

“So have you got something similar for yourself?” He started fussing with his hair, wondering if he should leave it as it is or use some hair potion to have it lay flat. 

“Myself?” 

“What do muggle women wear?” 

She stared at him. “Why would that matter?” 

“For someone repeatedly referred to as the _brightest witch of her age_ , you're very oblivious. You’re coming with me. I am not going to be the only fool decked in muggle clothing.”

“We’re going _together?”_

“Not if you’re so morally opposed,” he said with a sniff. Hermione privately thought that he looked more of an aristocrat than ever in the suit as he nodded at the salesgirl to pack up the _five_ finest suits that he’d chosen. 

“Would you like to look at cufflinks?” the girl squealed, blushing under his stare as he tried to hand her the proper money. 

“ _Cuffings_?” echoed Draco. “Sure, what are those?” 

The salesgirl pulled out several boxes encased in velvet, looking at Hermione in confusion as he exclaimed over them. 

“He’s not from here,” she told her helpfully. 

The girl nodded understandably. “France?” 

“Granger! They have _cuffings_ in the same shade of emerald that matches my Slytherin ring.”

Hermione sighed. “Farther than that.”

* * *

“Why do you look so disappointed? This is the best meal I have ever tasted,” Hermione said as she drank her pumpkin soup. If someone had told Draco when he had joined that he would be spending nearly all of his lunch hours with Granger visiting nearly every dining place he could think of, he would have laughed in their faces. However, it was the truth. 

Draco sighed. “The view is not to my liking.” 

She was wearing Muggle clothing, a blouse that was cut low and a pair of wide-legged trousers. He wondered if she would wear something similar to Pansy’s ball. While Draco himself was growing to enjoy muggle clothing - he was quite impressed with the formal wear men were required to wear - he had to admit that Hermione’s taste was quite bizarre. She clearly opted for comfort than appearance, he had thought when she’d shrugged her coat off. He was almost ready to pump his fist that finally, here was the one thing he waited for. It was an entirely ugly combination of an outfit, completely distasteful. 

However, it was not until they were seated and they began to eat, Hermione earnestly discussing her monstrous familiar that she called a cat, that Draco realised even her disastrous fashion sense complimented her - the blouse hinted at deep golden skin and the side swells of her breasts while the colour only heightened the intensity of her eyes. The dim lighting of the dining venue also only cast a sheen light on her skin, making it appear luminous. He wanted to scream himself hoarse, even decked in Muggle clothing, she continued to remain perfect. 

“Are you going to go to the art exhibit down the street?” she asked him now, Draco tore his eyes away from the glimpse of her breasts - he was almost sure they were perfect too and he wanted to curse her. Whatever magic she was bewitching everyone else with would not work on him. 

“Is that your way of saying you want to go?” They had spent enough time together for Draco to anticipate and predict her behaviour. 

“Yes.” 

“Then we’ll go,” he said quickly. She tore off a piece of her bread, soaking it in the soup and popping it into her mouth. Draco was not fond of touching food with bare hands and couldn’t help but grimace. 

“What?” she said, spotting the look on his face. “It tastes nice.” 

“I am sure it does.” Did this make her imperfect? He thought about it before brushing the thought away. This was too benign. 

“Try it.” 

He clenched his jaw. “No.” 

After ten minutes, Draco exploded. “Alright fine, stop with the bloody harping. I am trying it.” He gagged internally as he tore a tiny piece of bread, dipped it into the soup and into his mouth. It did taste nice. 

* * *

Draco chuckled as he regarded Hermione, her expression prim and hair tangled. “Who knew that your favourite subject from school would be tonight’s theme?” 

“Don’t mention it,” she said, ducking her head to avoid detection from the crowd of on-lookers. The exhibition was held out in the open, frames of art covering the walls and alleyways. It was supposed to be a statement. 

“Why not?” he wondered, joining her to gaze at the painting she was staring at. _Truth in An Unknown World,_ the title boasted. 

She gestured wildly. “Does this make sense to you?” 

Draco titled his head. “Well, it does seem to be a commentary on future social conditions of an unknown world. The artist has used colours that are associated with typical colours of fear, envy, distrust and greed.” He lightly touched the canvas, running a finger over a brushstroke. “The strokes remind me of tampering - whether it's by people or state, who knows?” 

Hermione gaped at him. “There is no way you got all that from colours and splatters.” 

“Art is subjective. It is open to interpretation. I’m sure you have different thoughts on it.” 

She jutted out her chin. “I have no thoughts because this doesn’t have any thoughts.” 

“Oh, Granger.” He laid an arm over her shoulders, guiding her towards the rest of the paintings which were based on similar themes. “It’s not about what the artist is saying, it’s about what the art says and means to you. It’s all you.” 

She squinted at a different canvas for a long moment before shrugging. “Nothing.” 

“I suppose that can also be an interpretation,” he said lightly, tugging her over to a different painting. It was angrier, volatile almost, brimming with rebellion and revolution. 

“Nothing,” she repeated, sounding frustrated. 

Draco pursed his lips. “Isn’t it possible that it's because of your own narrow-mindedness?” He playfully patted her forehead, she batted his hand away, scowling. 

“I am not narrow-minded-”

“What about you storming out of Divination claiming it’s worthless? Your disregard for Luna Lovegood?” 

“Oh sorry, I was not aware you were so _fond_ of Divination and when did you become such dear friends with Luna anyway?” 

Draco ignored her. “My point is that you disregard certain knowledge avenues and styles because they are not based on your rigid confines and tools of intellectualism. Take astrology, for that matter.” 

“Oh no,” she moaned. “Draco, if you tell me you believe in _that-”_

“I am named after a constellation,” he reminded her, amused. 

“I am leaving,” she announced, glaring at him. 

“But the exhibit just began! There’s a walkway session too.” 

“You called me narrow-minded and an _intellectual_ elitist,” she spat. 

“But you are.” 

Hermione threw her hands up in the air, her hair seemed to crackle with magic. “Just because I do not understand explicit meanings from what’s, at best, splatters of colours against a blank canvas-” she broke off with horror, noting the audience staring at them. Worse, the newspaper journalists staring at them. 

Draco sighed, tugging her away from the crowds. 

“Sorry,” she squeaked once to the artist who did not seem too bothered. Or so, she hoped. 

“Now what was that?” 

Hermione surprised him by suddenly stepping into him, her arms draped around his neck. “I just struggle, sometimes. It’s so hard to visualise or feel the want to create - even if its lies like Divination.” 

“Why do you think it’s so?” He murmured in her ear, she shivered in response. 

“I suppose there could be a mental block in my head but,” her voice grew steady. “I think in _words._ I have a constant inner voice, reading whatever I think and I can never understand some things.” 

“You’re only creating and reinforcing the block,” he reminded her. It was odd, he thought. But she seemed to fit him perfectly. He could easily rest his chin on her head while she was tucked in him. 

“I suppose,” she hesitated. “It just doesn’t come as easily as legal jargon, Ancient Runes or Arithmancy.” 

“No need to show off being an elitist intellectual, Granger. Besides, your way is just one of many ways. You admitted you don’t have any creative intelligence and I will never hold it against you.” 

“So kind,” she mumbled.

He laughed once, the noise sounding much heavier and vibratory from where her ear was pressed up against him. “Splatters of colours against a blank canvas.” 

“Shut it.” 

* * *

There was a banging on the door, Pansy groaned loudly when Daphne appeared in the room clutching a thick bundle of newspapers. 

“What is this?” She threw them at the table, her blonde ponytail swinging with her gestures. Spying the various headlines all pertaining to the subject of Draco and Hermione with assorted accompanying shots of their so-called dates dining, shopping and even attending art exhibitions, Pany sighed. 

“Draco’s obsessed-” Theo began. 

“With Granger,” Blaise added. 

Daphne raised her eyebrows. “Why?” 

“Because he thinks she’s perfect,” the three chorused together. 

Daphne looked between them. “ _Perfect?_ But she’s not perfect - she’s actually quite annoying if you want to listen to any of the Golden Trio worshippers who talk behind their backs but not to their face.” 

“We know-” Pansy said, a tone of gloom in her voice. 

Theo was staring at the ceiling. “But Draco keeps convincing himself otherwise.”

Pansy nodded meaningfully at her. “So he goes out trying to prove himself right.” 

“But if he’s been spending all this time with her, he must have realised that she’s -” Daphne broke off, groaning. 

“Perfect for him and he’s head over heels? No, oddly enough, he hasn’t realised that yet.” Blaise sounded grim as they looked over the Draco and Hermione photos again. 

“Why are you all so moody about this? Hang on, you aren’t still prejudiced about her-” Daphne began. With a small pop, Draco apparated into the room. 

“You will not believe,” he said instantly, “what Granger had the nerve to do today! She signed us up for a painting class! All because of the incident at the art exhibition the other day. I mean, sure go figure yourself out but why drag me around? Anyways, look at this.” He brandished a child-like painting of a starry night. “Is there anything she does that’s not fucking perfect?” 

At the silence, he looked up from the not-so-perfect painting. “Oh, hello Daphne.” 

Daphne tilted her head. “Draco.” 

He did not respond, heading towards a door. It shut behind him with a click. 

“I want to kill him,” Theo said. 

Pansy pursed her lips. “I want to kill her.” 

“I want to kill them both,” declared Blaise. 

* * *

Hermione was humming slightly, running her hands through the spines of the books before she pulled one out. “ _Wandering the Willow_ sounds so poetic and philosophical. I am almost sure it will be a memoir.” 

“Has no one ever told you to never judge a book by it’s cover?” Draco sauntered over to her, dropping two more books into their charmed basket which was following them through the shop. Draco had bought her here, confident that her bookwormish ways would be enough to tarnish her reputation in his eyes. 

Hermione scoffed. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard and that is saying something considering I have to spend my lunch hours with you.” 

Finally! The one thing he was waiting for. “You judge a book by its cover?” 

“Don’t all people?” she countered, dropping _Wandering the Willow_ into the basket. “I mean, everyone likes to pretend that they don’t but they secretly do. I am just upfront about it.” 

“OK, I’ll feign my interest. Why does everyone pretend to not?” 

Hermione shrugged, considering two books in her hands before adding them both to the basket. “Well, it makes them sound more tolerant and accepting than the rest but I’ve seen enough to know better.” She paused, scanning the rows upon rows of shelves before heading towards the back. 

“The same people who pretend they don’t judge will fawn over credentials and judge a person according to those,” she continued, brushing her hair back impatiently. “It’s not _wrong_ exactly because humans have been designed to function in that way: schemas, heuristics and our other forms of knowledge and information processing solely exist to help us make decisions and judgements. We are using these all the time so yes, we do judge. But it’s the negative connotation that the word has been attached with that makes everyone hesitant to identify with it.” 

Draco nodded slowly. While he was not sure he agreed completely with her, she did make a logical argument. He reached over her for the book she was trying to grab and their fingers brushed for a second, he snatched his hand away as if the touch had burned him. It nearly felt like it did. “I suppose judgement does mean the ability to make considered decisions or come to sensible conclusions.” 

“Exactly! But over time, it’s been eroded away to refer to conservative mindsets or narrow-mindedness.” She bit her lip, running a hand over a book cover. “I used to be narrow-minded. Maybe I still am.” 

“You?” he stared at her, pretending to be shocked. “Weren’t you the champion for all the house-elves recently? The poster child for Muggle-borns?” 

Her cheeks went pink. “Having an absolutist sense of morality and intellect really caused me to be narrow-minded. I guess I am also a bit insufferable with what I consider to be worthwhile and worthless knowledge.” 

“Ah, the famous escape from the Divination Tower and the famous art exhibition blow up,” he smirked, her cheeks flushing even more. “I don’t think you have an absolutist sense of morality though,” he offered, unthinkingly. “You would have never testified for me if you did.” 

They were silent a moment, reliving the horror that plagued their lives only five years ago. “I think you helped me to get over it. To consider a different perspective than the binaries I was used to,” she pursed her lips. 

Draco wanted to yell. Here she was admitting her limitations and not only could he understand them and sympathise with them, but she also credited his role in her overcoming one of them. _Perfect,_ he thought with a snarl as she led their charmed basket to the counter. 

* * *

“How is the hunt for an imperfection going?” Blaise inquired over breakfast, ignoring the piece of bread that Theo lobbed his way. 

“You know, it’s so odd,” Draco sounded thoughtful. “She has her little quirks and her eccentricities but they’re really not enough to blot it out.”

“So you’re done with your-” Pansy started

“Obsession?” said Theo. 

“Fixation?” supplied Blaise helpfully. 

"Mania?" suggested Daphne. 

“-Preoccupation?” finished Pansy, ignoring the three of them.

Draco carefully spooned berries in his mouth. “I am not sure. I think there must be something else but,” he shrugged once. “She grows on you. She’s endearing.” 

“Because she’s perfect?” 

He snorted. “Hardly. I mean, she’s not perfect but that’s what makes her perfect.” 

Four separate sets of cutlery clattered onto plates as four Slytherins looked at each other. 

* * *

A hush fell as Draco and Hermione entered the ballroom, Hermione’s hand tucked in his arm. She had worn a simple black and emerald dress, trying to match with his suit and cufflinks. 

They headed over to a dim corner, Draco plucking two glasses of champagne from an enchanted tray that zoomed by. “Do you want to dance?” 

“I can’t really dance,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. He did look handsome in the suit, she thought as she ran her eyes over him appreciatively. While dress robes were suitable for certain occasions, she really will try to make Draco wear more tuxedos in the future. It brought out his eyes and hair, made his features even sharper and prominent. His hair was also carefully styled enough to look tousled and careless but not completely unruly. 

“Alright,” he said, gazing at her. He had made her revert her sleeky hair back to her regular unruly curls earlier, he liked them better and so had she, she’d admitted. Yet again, he cursed the wizarding world for not adopting muggle clothing. She looked beautiful, even more beautiful than in that horrible blouse and trousers. It wasn’t the outfit itself, he decided, but how it looked on _her._ It was low cut, offering him a glimpse of the side of her breasts and her smooth skin. With sudden clarity, he realised that she _was_ perfect. For _him._

“I need to-” they both began in unison, stopping to let the other person continue. He gestured for her to continue. 

“I sort of figured out why you were around me these past few months.” She ran a finger over the rim of her glass, looking at him nervously. “Then I ran into Pansy and we chatted. It confirmed my thoughts.” She took a deep breath, looking at him earnestly. 

This was it, he thought with a sudden gloom. She was going to bid him farewell and he would never get to see her again. 

“You think I am perfect,” she said slowly, her cheeks flushed. “When I am clearly not. Everyone everywhere doesn’t dare breathe a word against me, no one wants to acknowledge my mistakes - and I make them,” she added. “Everyone sees me - but not me. They see the Chosen One’s best friend, the war heroine, the Brightest Witch of Her Age. I am nothing but an idealised version of myself to them. To the extent that I am nothing but a glorified infallible being.” 

“Granger,” he began hoarsely. “I am-”

“Let me finish. Everyone except you, Draco,” she smiled wanly at him. “You argue with me, you make me prove my arguments, you never take my word for granted, you find my mistakes and don’t let me forget them. You know my stubbornness and bossiness. You point out my limitations in intellect like my narrow-mindedness. But,” she continued breathlessly. “You know my shortcomings and my limitations and you continue to think I am _perfect_ in spite of them. You treat me like a person with no regard for who I am friends with or what I’ve done. Everyone else idealises me to the point where I am someone with nothing wrong or bad or negative. But not you.” She reached for his hand. “That’s the difference, Malfoy.” 

Draco was quiet for a long moment, his tongue suddenly uncooperative. “You’re perfect to me,” he said honestly. They smiled widely at each other. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, snog her, you git,” said Pansy, appearing from behind a curtain. It also revealed the guilty faces of Theo and Blaise and an amused Daphne. 

She tilted her head up at him, his arms snaked around her waist. Their lips met, brushing for just a moment before it deepened. His hands darted up to cradle her face, hers wrapping around his neck. 

Blaise fanned himself, blinking while Theo blew his nose, openly weeping. Daphne rested her arms around Pansy’s waist. 

The party lights glittered like starlights at the dancing wizards and witches. No one paid attention when a pale blond figure and a smaller figure with busy hair, left holding hands.  
  



End file.
